Bridesmaids Page 11

  But I’m about to be surprised.

  ‘I’ll come with you, Evie,’ she says, and I raise my eyebrows in disbelief. ‘Why not?’ she adds, smiling nervously.

  Charlotte might dance in a quiet, understated way–but she dances all right. And, three or four tracks in, she actually looks like she’s enjoying herself.

  ‘Charlotte,’ shouts Grace over the music. ‘I know I said this before but you really do look amazing, you know.’

  ‘Thank you, Grace,’ she replies. ‘I know I’ve still got a long way to go.’

  ‘Have you?’ I wonder out loud. ‘You look like a different person already.’

  ‘I still need to lose a lot of weight,’ she says, ‘but I’m absolutely determined I’m going to do it.’

  ‘Well, good for you,’ says Grace.

  ‘I mean, I’d love to look like you,’ adds Charlotte.

  ‘Me?’ Grace looks genuinely surprised by this.

  ‘Absolutely you,’ she says. ‘You’re attractive, you’ve got a beautiful family. I’d kill to be in your shoes.’

  A look of realisation suddenly washes over Grace’s face.

  ‘I am lucky, aren’t I?’ she says, smiling.

  After a good half-hour of dancing to the sort of tracks that were last in the charts before I was on solids, Grace looks ready for a breather.

  ‘Do you fancy another drink?’ she mouths, competing against the Jackson Five.

  I nod, and she and I make our way to the bar as Charlotte, unbelievably, stays with the others.

  ‘White wine?’ asks Grace.

  ‘Please,’ I say. ‘Although I think we’re the only ones in here not drinking alcopops, you know.’

  She grimaces. ‘If I wanted the sort of e-numbers that are in those, I could have stayed at home and eaten one of Polly’s strawberry mousses,’ she says. ‘Ooh, before I forget, you have still got my curling tongs, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve got your curling tongs, I’ve got Georgia’s furry handcuffs, and in fact I’ve got enough of other people’s junk in this bag to hold a Bring and Buy sale. Now, am I getting these drinks or are you?’

  Just as she’s about to produce a twenty-pound note, we can feel someone’s presence behind us.

  ‘Let me get these,’ says a vaguely familiar voice.

  I turn around and can barely believe my eyes.

  ‘Jack!’ I gasp, with such enthusiasm that I sound like a swooning Jane Austen character on crack.

  I’m going to have to learn some subtlety, I really am.

  Chapter 40

  Jack isn’t as good-looking as I’d remembered. He’s better.

  ‘How are you, Evie and Grace?’ he asks, smiling.

  ‘I’m fine,’ says Grace. ‘And you? I’ve not seen you since the wedding. Listen, thank you so much for the present–it was beautiful.’

  Jack spurned the wedding list and bought Grace and Patrick an Indonesian wall-hanging. Not only is it supremely tasteful and completely unique, but it also has the added benefit of being a great excuse to replace the Whitley Bay landscape that Patrick’s mother gave them four Christmases ago.

  ‘I’m glad you liked it,’ he says. ‘I was torn between that and a rather impressive set of garden gnomes.’

  ‘You made the right choice,’ she laughs.

  ‘I thought you might say that,’ he says. ‘And how are you, Evie? It’s nice to see you instead of just texting. It’s not really the same as a proper conversation, somehow, is it?’

  ‘I’m great, actually,’ I reply, trying to think of something good to say, something that will spark a brilliant conversation and make me sound fabulously intelligent. ‘Er, I didn’t expect to see you here,’ I add.

  Genius at work, Evie. How about Do you come here often? next time.

  ‘It’s not one of my usual haunts,’ he replies. ‘But someone at work is leaving today so I decided to come out for just a pint. Although that was six hours ago, I must admit.’

  ‘Naughty you,’ I say. Oh God, what have I been drinking?

  ‘Listen, Evie, I’ll be back soon,’ says Grace, obviously excusing herself for my benefit. ‘I’ve just got to go and speak to Charlotte.’

  She grabs her bag and heads back to the dance floor.

  So, here I am, alone with the man himself.

  Jack smiles again. ‘So, you’ve heard I somehow made it onto the guest-list to Georgia and Pete’s wedding?’ he says.

  ‘I have heard,’ I nod. ‘Which presumably means that you’re the reason Pete has been spending so much time at the rugby lately instead of getting ready for his big day.’

  ‘Ah,’ he says. ‘Guilty as charged. I hope Georgia will forgive me.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she will.’ I am finally managing something halfway akin to a conversation. ‘Anyway, don’t let it go to your head. I think half of the country has been invited to this wedding. It’s going to be more like a football crowd.’

  Jack laughs and gazes into my eyes. Just looking at him makes the blood rush to my face. I take a sip of my wine, feeling strangely nervous and excited.

  ‘How many people are going?’ he asks.

  ‘A good couple of hundred, I think,’ I say. ‘Although there are only a few of us out tonight. A handful of us went for a meal and…now this. A blast from the past.’

  ‘Well,’ he says. ‘It’s a lovely surprise seeing you.’

  ‘Really?’ I am starting to feel a little more relaxed now, a little cooler about the whole situation.

  ‘Yes, really,’ he says. ‘I mean, I had a good time at Grace and Patrick’s wedding. If you’d let me, I think I probably could have talked all night.’

  I laugh quietly, feeling confident enough now to say something a little bit flirtatious.

  ‘Well,’ I say with a smile, ‘I think I probably would have let you.’

  Jack holds my gaze and my blood starts racing again. The chemistry between us is unmistakable. Nothing is said, but our expressions speak volumes. He knows it and I know it. And I’m absolutely loving it.

  ‘Ay luv, have you gorra pen?’ asks a woman next to me, leaning on the bar.

  ‘Mmm,’ I reply, making sure I don’t take my eyes off him. I’m not about to break this gaze in a hurry.

  I reach into my bag to search for the pen I know is in here somewhere. Determined my eyes won’t leave Jack’s, I root around in it with one hand.

  ‘I pulled the most gorgeous bloke you’ve seen in your life about twenty minutes ago…only my mobile’s broken and I can’t find anything to write his number down with,’ grumbles the woman, but I can’t engage in conversation with her. Not now. I just can’t do anything other than look at Jack.

  I dare to smile–the hint of a smile–and he returns the favour with heart-stopping effect.

  Distractedly, I pull Grace’s curling tongs out of my bag and put them on the bar to make some room in my bag. As soon as my hand goes back in there, I locate the pen and pass it to the woman.

  ‘Thanks,’ she says. Then she just sniggers and leaves. And with a very strange look on her face too.

  I think nothing of it as I turn back to Jack. Until I realise he has a very strange look on his face too.

  Feeling a little miffed that the spell between us has somehow been broken, I pick up Grace’s curling tongs to put them back in my bag. When they are approximately one foot in front of Jack’s face I realise something.

  I’m not holding a set of curling tongs after all.

  I’m holding Georgia’s ten-inch vibrator.

  Chapter 41

  The vibrator was blue in the restaurant. Under the disco lights, it is fluorescent. In fact, it’s so fluorescent, you could land a plane with it. I know panicking is the worst possible tactic I could employ in such a situation. But quite frankly, I can’t think of anything else to do.

  My eyes wide, I grip the vibrator and stuff it firmly back into my bag, hoping against all hope that Jack hasn’t realised what it is. But the sheer conviction with
which I plunge it back in there manages to set something off. And the vibrator starts vibrating.

  Panicking madly now, I stuff my hand back into the bag and desperately try to find the OFF button without having to get the vibrator out in public again. But as I frantically feel my way around the thing, my hands sweating and my heart pounding, I realise to my horror that there are at least four different buttons to choose from.

  Instinct takes over and I start to press every one of them–my thinking being that one of them must shut the damn thing down.

  But they don’t. Instead, the vibrator launches into an elaborate thrusting movement, the sort you’d expect to see on the production line of an automotive plant.

  My bag begins to take on a life of its own, jutting in and out as if it’s inhabited by a manic small animal being given a series of electric shocks. I feverishly start pressing the other buttons, the sound of Barry White’s ‘My First, My Last, My Everything’ providing the backdrop to this horrific display. But whatever I press just makes the thrusting get faster and the vibrations get harder…and harder…and harder.

  Conscious of being less than a foot away from the man of my dreams while I wrestle with a ten-inch electronic dildo, my mind starts racing with possible tactics. I am on the verge of throwing the bag over the bar and shouting, ‘Bomb!’ when finally, mercifully…it stops.

  Sweating, shaking, I look up at Jack.

  ‘Everything okay?’ he asks.

  I gulp. ‘Er, yes,’ I reply, straightening my back and putting my bag on the floor, as if what just happened was the most normal thing in the world.

  ‘Everything okay with you?’ I ask, realising immediately what a ridiculous question this is. He’s not the one who’s just had a fight with Ann Summers’s finest and lost.

  ‘Yes, everything’s cool,’ he says.

  ‘Er, Jack, ahem,’ I say. ‘Obviously, that wasn’t mine.’

  ‘What wasn’t?’ he says.

  ‘That…that…item,’ I whisper.

  ‘You mean the vibrator?’ he says.

  ‘It was Georgia’s!’ I jump in. ‘She thought she’d given me the handcuffs, you see, and—’

  ‘Handcuffs?’ he repeats.

  Oh God.

  ‘Fluffy ones,’ I offer, by way of an explanation.

  Just as I’m about to lose the will to live, I realise something. Jack is smiling. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, he looks thoroughly amused by the whole episode. I can’t decide whether this is a good or bad thing.

  ‘I suppose you think that was funny?’ I ask.

  ‘Fawlty Towers eat your heart out,’ he says, and again gives me that wide, heart-stopping smile.

  I laugh, feeling slightly relieved now, which is at least an improvement on just mortally embarrassed. I look over to the dance floor, where Valentina now has her arms draped around the neck of a Ricky Martin lookalike and is grinding her hips like a champion flamenco dancer. Charlotte has somehow ended up with a bloke who looks as if his usual Friday nights are spent rehearsing for a future appearance on University Challenge. I start to wonder where Grace could be when I see her battling her way through the crowds to reach us.

  ‘Evie,’ she says breathlessly when she gets to us. ‘I’m going to have to leave.’

  I look up at Jack with a sinking feeling. For God’s sake, Grace, I can’t go yet, I think. But as my mind races with excuses to stay here with Jack, I suddenly realise her face looks drained of colour.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s Polly,’ she replies, clearly distraught. ‘She’s in hospital. She’s had an accident.’

  Chapter 42

  As Grace and I run down the street, our feet sodden with slimy street water and rain belting down onto our faces, I realise she is relying on me to know where we’re going. We reach the main road, with headlights streaming past us and squealing groups of girls hurrying into the doorways of nightclubs to avoid getting wet.

  At first glance, Grace and I might look like them, but we’re not running to get out of the rain. We need a taxi and fast. So why won’t any of them stop?

  With each set of headlights I see coming towards us, I hurl myself into the road with my thumb out, but they all just swerve around me and beep. Who wants to pick up two women who look like we do? They probably think we’re drunk. The fact is, we’re both as close to sober now as we’ve ever been.

  ‘Come on, this way,’ I say, grabbing Grace’s hand. We run for what seems like hours, but is probably only a few minutes, until we reach a taxi rank. But there is a queue of about forty people. I race to the front and grab the coat of a guy who is getting into a black cab.

  ‘Hey, what the fuck—’

  ‘Please,’ I beg. ‘There’s been an accident. My friend’s little girl has been taken to hospital. We need this cab–please.’

  He looks me up and down, then looks Grace up and down and clearly realises we’re not just two charlatans trying to jump the cab queue.

  ‘Come on, Becky, get out,’ he says to his girlfriend inside.

  ‘What?’ says the woman, uncrossing her long, fake-tanned legs. She’s wearing a short, designer dress and, despite the rain, her hair and make-up are still perfectly intact. ‘I’ve waited twenty minutes for this taxi. I’m not getting out now.’

  ‘Get out,’ he repeats.

  ‘No,’ she says. And then, when he leans into the car and grabs her by the arm, ‘Ow! You sod! Get your bloody hands off me!’ But she’s got the message and reluctantly climbs out.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say to both of them and we jump into the back.

  ‘Alder Hey Hospital, please,’ I tell the cabbie. ‘Accident and Emergency.’

  The driver throws me a knowing look; there’s only one reason you’d be going to Alder Hey A&E at this time of night and it’s not a happy one. He swings the cab around and slams his foot down on the accelerator.

  I sit on the fold-down seat opposite Grace and grasp her hands. She still looks stunned.

  ‘So what do you know?’ I ask.

  She shakes her head, an expression of desperation and bewilderment on her face.

  ‘Not a lot,’ she says. ‘I mean, I’d been texting Patrick all night. First of all to try and make up with him after our spat. But he just wasn’t responding. And I was getting so pissed off with him and…well, then I thought perhaps he’d just fallen asleep in front of the telly.’

  She takes a deep breath.

  ‘Go on,’ I say.

  ‘So, I told myself just to forget it and have a nice time. So I did. I went to dance with Charlotte and two blokes,’ she starts sniffing, ‘but when I went to the loo I looked at my phone. There were five missed calls.’

  ‘And has he left a voice message?’ I ask.

  She nods. ‘Just the same as the text–very brief. He just says that Polly’s had an accident and they’re on their way to Alder Hey.’

  ‘Well,’ I say, ‘she might just have twisted her arm or something.’

  Grace looks out of the window as we trundle along and her lip starts quivering.

  ‘But she might not have,’ she says.

  I squeeze her hand.

  ‘The thing is,’ she continues, ‘Patrick is usually Mr Pragmatic when things happen. I panic, he keeps his cool. That’s the way it is. But he didn’t sound very cool, not this time.’

  Even though the most rational part of me is saying that this is probably nothing–a broken arm, a bumped head, maybe–there’s also a big part of me saying, actually, it might be more than nothing.

  I’ve worked at the Daily Echo for less than a year now, but in that time I’ve covered all manner of horrific stories involving kids. You just assume that that sort of thing happens to other people. Not your best friend’s daughter. Not Polly.

  Despite the taxi driver’s impressive pace, the journey seems to be taking forever.

  ‘Oh Evie,’ says Grace, tears welling up now, ‘I can’t stop thinking about all the questions Polly asked me today–you know how s
he does. I was trying to get my hair washed when she kept asking me about why dogs have tails–or something. Do you know what I said?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘I said: “They just do, Polly”. What sort of a mother says “They just do”? Why couldn’t I have taken the time to answer her?’

  She bursts into tears, sobbing uncontrollably and struggling to get her breath. I jump over and sit next to her, putting my arm around her as tight as I can.

  ‘Grace, don’t be silly,’ I say to her as the taxi pulls up at the hospital. ‘You’re a wonderful mother. And everything will be fine. I know it.’

  I’m just praying I’m right.

  Chapter 43

  ‘I hope she’s okay,’ says the cabbie, as I hang back to pay him and Grace rushes into the reception. ‘Your mate’s little girl, I mean.’

  ‘So do I,’ I say, handing him a twenty-pound note.

  ‘Oh, I don’t want paying, love,’ he says.

  ‘But it’s a Friday night,’ I point out.

  ‘Just go and be with your pal,’ he says, pushing my twenty back.

  I haven’t got time to argue.

  ‘My daughter’s just been brought in, in an ambulance,’ Grace is saying to the receptionist. ‘Her name is Polly Cunningham.’ She sounds weirdly calm.

  ‘Just one moment, please,’ says the receptionist, as she starts bringing something up on her computer.

  ‘Right,’ she says, ‘if you’d just like to go through those double doors on the right then follow the corridor along to the desk, they’ll be able to help you there.’

  We run down the corridor, but before we reach where we’re going, I can see Patrick walking towards us, with Scarlett in his arms.

  ‘Patrick!’ shouts Grace, and launches into a run.

  ‘I’ve just come out to try to phone you,’ he says when they meet. ‘She’s fine. Just a few cuts and bruises, they think, but absolutely fine.’

  The look on Grace’s face tells me she doesn’t know whether to kiss him or hit him.

  Polly, it turns out, fell down the stairs. When I say she fell, it sounds more like the sort of stunt for which Hollywood film stars would need a specially trained double. She’d gone into Grace and Patrick’s room–something she’s taken to doing recently when she wakes in the middle of the night–and when she’d seen that neither of them was there, had thought it a good idea to go looking for them downstairs.